Monday, 23 April 2012

Something A Little Different - I've been Tagged

This week's blog posting is a little different, because some time ago I was 'tagged' by Diane Fordham (http://dianefordham.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/novel-marketing-opportunity.html) This is where you paste a piece of your current WIP (work in progress), but just so that you don't paste the best bit, there are a couple of rules that state you should draw upon the 7 lines of text from the seventh line on the seventh page.

Actually, the piece I'm working on at the moment is a short story, so there are not seven pages, so here are the seven lines that follow on from the seventh line of the first page:

If you don't want your petunias dead-headed early, put fifty pounds in used notes inside a brown envelope and leave it in the ladies loos, off Ribble Street, at 4 o'clock, today. Place the envelope behind the cistern of the second cubicle, then leave. Return at 5pm and, if everything is order, your petunias will be waiting for you. Don't call the Police.

"You'd know I'd go," said Geoffrey, "but a man walking into the ladies loos might draw someone's attention. And the last thing I want is for some nosey witness to call the Police. I need those petunias back for Saturday's village show. I'm convinced they'll win. Stan's petunias are only half the size of mine."

So there you go. Now you know how my fiction mind works! There's still a bit of work to do on the whole text, but I'm hoping to send it off soon.

All that leaves me to do is to tag seven other bloggers to see if they want to have a go at sharing seven lines from the seventh line on the seventh page of their current work in progress, so here goes:

...I knew from the first moment I met him that we would be great friends – immediately feeling like I had known him for years. He was old enough to be my father and we often let people think he was just one of our many shared jokes.Those crazy days attempting to play golf. Frequently failing to clear the water obstacle with our golf balls skimming across the lake before sinking to murky oblivion.“Another Barnes Wallis shot,” he would say as we cracked up, hardly observing golf etiquette. We didn’t care.